


Thrust out the Harlot

by igraine1419



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:04:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igraine1419/pseuds/igraine1419
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a stormy All Soul's Night, Merry tricks Frodo and Sam into a game of hide and seek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thrust out the Harlot

Merry sighed and shifted in his chair, turning his gaze towards the many-paned window, and the lead grey sky outside, darkening minute by minute, foreboding rain. Frowning and flinging one leg across the other in agitation, he hardened his gaze on his good friend and cousin, Peregrine Took who sat opposite, close against the warm, snapping fire. Shadows clustered at his back, enfolding him as he sat deep in the hollow of the winged chair, turning over the pages of a picture book in a lazy manner, as if his mind were elsewhere and his fingers working of their own volition. 

‘What is it, Merry?’ Pippin spoke softly, dreamily.

Surprised, Merry’s heart turned a small cartwheel. ‘I thought you were away with the fairies.’

Pippin continued to turn the pages of his book as the fire hissed through a piece of green holly wood; a long exhale, like a dragon’s threatening snarl. ‘Still, I can hear you huffing and puffing,’ he remarked, gazing down at a picture of a rearing armoured horse.

‘Well, I’m fed up!’ Merry grumbled. ‘I’m bored.’

Pippin smiled and shook his head as his fingers traced the illustration. ‘Can you imagine, Merry, a fearsome beast such as this? It would tower over us like a black mountain.’ 

Merry flicked a look at the illuminated page, ‘It’s a war horse of men, Pip. I don’t think you need worry. The worst you have to fear is a kick in the rear by old Snowbell.’

As Pippin returned to his thoughts, Merry heard the first heavy drops of rain slice across the window, one, two, then suddenly many more in quick succession, beating a tattoo on the dark glass. 

‘That sounds like hooves,’ Pippin remarked.

Merry listened to the sharp, fast beat and imagined a black horse thundering towards Brandy Hall, its eyes flashing fire in the reflected light of a hundred panes of lighted glass, its black coat sleek and shining with water, rain spraying up under the weight of heavy, pounding hooves. 

Shivering, Merry rose to his feet and ambled over to the fire. ‘Bother this foul weather! It will put paid to the fireworks.’

‘Oh dear,’ Pippin groaned. ‘I love fireworks.’

‘What a washout,’ Merry complained. ‘And where is cousin Frodo? I haven’t set eyes on him since afternoon tea and even then he didn’t say much, he seemed more interested in buttering his muffin.’

‘I think our cousin Frodo is distracted,’ Pippin grinned. 

‘I saw him gazing over at the serving tables. I think he was keeping an eye on the blackberry tarts.’

‘I don’t think it was the blackberry tarts, Merry.’

Growing suddenly thoughtful and solemn, Merry sighed. ‘He’s no fun anymore Pip. He was always up for some japes in the past, always the first to instigate some fun. I’m afraid he’s turning into an old gaffer, Pip.’

Pippin snorted. ‘He’s smitten.’

Merry span round on his heels.

‘Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?’ Pippin laughed. 

Outraged, Merry strode over to his cousin and tore the book from his hands, snapping it shut with a loud puff. ‘Pippin?’

‘Where do you think he’s been for the last two days?’

‘In the library, probably, knowing Frodo, he’d be hiding under heaps of books somewhere we can’t see him.’

Pippin shook his head. ‘We looked in there, remember? We peered through the shelves and couldn’t find him anywhere.’

‘Well, then he’d be out walking.’

‘We searched the fields and the river, we walked so far your legs went weak and I had to pull you home.’

‘He might’ve been in the forest, Pip, we didn’t go there!’

‘Even Frodo wouldn’t go in there,’ Pippin shuddered.

‘Well, I don’t know!’ Merry exclaimed, raising his hands in defeat. ‘Sleeping?’

‘Wrong again.’ Pippin grinned mischievously.

‘How do you know where he’s been, anyway? You’ve been with me all week, haven’t you?’ Merry sat down on the arm of Pippin’s chair and wound a lazy arm around his shoulder. Pippin looked up at him with pink flushed cheeks, his eyes glittering in the dim light. 

‘Most of the time,’ he smiled, drawing Merry down into the chair beside him and winding his legs around his cousin’s waist. 

‘Well, then?’ Merry prompted, nuzzling Pippins neck and making him giggle.   
When Pippin had caught his breath, he sighed. ‘All right, you know when I went off yesterday to find Trubshaw to help me with that sticky drawer? You know, the drawer with all my good braces in it and that hat you were looking for, the one with the feather?’ 

‘Oh yes,’ Merry smiled. ‘I love that hat.’

‘Me too,’ Pippin went on. ‘I was hurrying down the servants stairs because you were waiting and wanted to go out and I knew how much you wanted that hat and how frustrated you were getting with the sticky drawer and as I was turning the last bend in the stairs I stopped still and looked down into the passage, pressing myself against the wall. Do you know what I saw?’ 

‘No, please enlighten me.’ Merry rubbed his nose thoughtfully up and down the delicate curve of Pippin’s ear. He adored Pippin’s ear, the shape of it, the warm, comfortable smell of it, he almost lost track of what Pippin was saying to him, were it not for the sharp jab in the ribs he received with the point of a Took elbow. 

‘Listen!’

‘Yes?’

‘It was Frodo.’

‘What was Frodo?’ Merry murmured. 

‘Standing there, in the passage. I thought it was odd at the time, but I was so caught up with finding Trubshaw and getting you that hat, it flew out of my head. But now I remember, he was standing in the passage, close by the doors to the servant’s quarters, loitering.’

‘ _Loitering_?’ Merry repeated. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, quite sure.’

‘It doesn’t sound very Frodo-like to me.’

‘I know!’ Pippin agreed. ‘I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but it was him all right. You can’t mistake our cousin Frodo even in a dark passage.’

‘What do you think he was doing? Was he hoping for a word with that Gamgee lad he brought along with him, you know, the Undergardener? But why wouldn’t he send word with one of the other servants, or ring the bell, there’s no call to be creeping about in dark passageways, he’d scare the poor lad to death.’

‘I think he was spying on Samwise,’ Pippin grinned. 

‘No this is too much! Cousin Frodo is not a loiterer or a Peeping Tom – I can’t believe it!’

‘There weren’t just blackberry tarts on that table, Merry, there were other things besides. Did you see who standing right behind?’

Puzzled, Merry thought back to afternoon tea in the crowded hall, trying to spin together loose fragments of memory, when suddenly, into his head came a soft low voice with a thick, rich accent, offering clotted cream. ‘Oh.’

‘Oh yes.’

‘The sly fox!’

‘When he heard me coming, he shot off down the passage like a rabbit out of a trap.’

‘Do you think Samwise knows?’ Merry frowned, playing with a lock of Pippin’s hair, threading it round his finger and pulling it taut. 

‘I don’t know,’ Pippin replied slowly. ‘I was watching him closely but he’s hard to read. He’s very attentive.’

‘Yes, I’ve seen him hanging onto Frodo’s every word, fetching him things before he’s even asked for them… I wonder…’

‘Ow!’ Pippin jerked away from Merry’s hand. 

‘Sorry Pip.’ Merry pressed a kiss against the injured hairs.

There was a grumble of thunder and a gust of rain followed hard on its heels. 

Merry’s lips slid into a slow smile. ‘Sam’s a dreamy sort, isn’t he? Writes poems and talks a lot about elves and boggarts and whatnot…’

Pippin tilted up a sharp chin and observed his cousin speculatively. ‘What are you plotting? You look positively devious, Merry.’

Merry hummed softly beneath his breath, drawing Pippin close as the flames jumped up the chimney. ‘It’s nearly All Hallows, isn’t it?’

‘Yes…’ Pippin sighed, closing his eyes.

‘Time for a little mischief, I think,’ Merry stroked Pippin’s hair gently, watching the warm orange glow from the fire bathe his cousin’s peaceful face. 

‘Oh, Merry…’ Pippin groaned. 

‘No, no, don’t worry, it will be for their own good, they will thank me in the end, you’ll see.’ 

‘I don’t like the sound of this,’ Pippin mumbled, turning his face into Merry’s sleeve.

~ ~ ~

Frodo had only been at Brandy Hall for a matter of days and already he was asking himself why he had agreed to come. Riding to Buckland together on a bright, autumn day, leaves red and gold and slipping under their hooves, Frodo had talked eagerly to Sam about his childhood home; the many rooms and gardens, the halls and the kitchens, and the magnificent feasts and parties. He spoke expectantly of All Hallows, elucidating on past exploits and tricks; mounting carved, lit pumpkins onto sticks and dressing them up in sheets to wave in at windows and hiding in cupboards dressed as phantoms, ready to slip out and scare senseless a poor unsuspecting passer by. Brandy Hall was a fine place for that, he said, full of dark corners and passageways, wonderful for hide and seek. Merry was always so easy to fool, Frodo grinned.

It had been Frodo’s wish that Sam should accompany him on this week-long trip to Brandy Hall to visit his relatives and enjoy the seasonal festivities. Lately, he had become so reliant on Sam’s reassuring presence and their little conversations; a week away from him seemed a penance. Sam was hesitant at first, unsure of the traditions of the Hall and what might be asked of him, but Frodo was persuasive, entreating Sam with promises of walks in the gardens and spectacular firework displays. 

Frodo groaned at the memory and sank his head into his hands. Why hadn’t he realised Sam would be shuttered away from him, only to emerge at mealtimes to serve and in the morning to draw back his curtains and bring him tea? Servants kept to their place at Brandy Hall; a warren of passageways and chambers, kitchens and stores and Frodo was beginning to feel depressed. He missed sharing his days with Sam, he missed small, unexpected things, such as the way Sam would suddenly start to hum a funny little tune that would make Frodo smile and the way they would speak at the same time and blunder into laughter. Sometimes Frodo would wash up, despite Sam’s protestations and Sam would stand beside him and dry the dishes with the cloth, his strong arms moving in slow circles, soft, soapy suds sliding down to his elbows. Now Frodo had resorted to sneaking about like a thief in the shadows, hoping for the merest glimpse of his friend. 

Jumping to his feet in frustration, Frodo strode over to the window, looking through a veil of rain out over the darkening hills and woods of Buckland. It was a pity the weather had broken, the previous days had been dry and crisp, fine weather for riding and for fireworks – a large assortment of which had been stored in crates in the cellar awaiting the celebrations at All Souls. Some said they were made by Gandalf, and spiked with magic. Now they would lie there until Yule, and the celebrations would be duller for their loss. Apparently, Esmerelda was already writing down a list of entertainments for tonight’s party, most of which unwittingly contrived to humiliate and embarrass the majority of her guests and relations. Frodo ran his fingers down the window, tracing the path of the speeding raindrops. Sam would be disappointed. He had promised a fine display, the like of which had not been seen since Bilbo’s great party. He had promised him a lot more things besides; most of which were utterly unachievable. Feeling as gloomy and grey as the weather, and wishing he were back in the intimacy and warmth of Bag End, Frodo slumped down on the window seat to brood. 

‘Ah Frodo!’

Frodo span round to face the door, his heart lurching in surprise. ‘Oh, hello Merry.’

‘I was wondering where you were hiding.’ Merry sauntered into Frodo’s room and over to the fireplace, where he stood fingering a small ornament on the mantelpiece. 

‘Foul weather, isn’t it?’ Frodo remarked.

‘Evil,’ agreed Merry. 

Watching his cousin’s solemn absorption in the little wooden horse, Frodo sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Merry, I’ve not been much company, have I?’

‘Well, you’ve been pleasant enough when I’ve seen you…’

Frodo held out his hand and Merry came and sat beside him on the window seat. ‘I think I should have stayed at home.’

‘You have time to redeem yourself.’

‘At your mothers party?’ Frodo grimaced.

Merry gave Frodo a sly look. ‘After the party…I thought we might have a little party of our own.’ 

‘Dear Merry, I’m not quite in the mood for parties, I’m afraid.’

Merry took Frodo’s hand and squeezed it, flinching at its coldness. ‘What about if I asked a certain person along?’ he whispered.

‘Not Tristram Boldstaff.’

‘Good grief, no. Not him…no someone you know a little better…hmm?’ Merry wiggled his eyebrows.

Frodo looked thoughtful. ‘I do hope you’re not intending to invite that cousin of yours from Stock, you know that was all a matter of muddled messages…’

Merry giggled. ‘No! I wouldn’t inflict _him_ on you, don’t you worry, despite the pleasure of seeing you squirm. Come on Frodo, you must know who I mean!’

Frodo turned back to the window, following closely the progression of two large raindrops. 

‘Sam!’ Merry shouted in exasperation. 

‘Shhh!’ Frodo hissed, covering his cousin’s mouth with the flat of his hand. 

‘Mmmmph!’

Frodo let his hand slip. ‘You can’t invite Sam, he’ll be below stairs.’

‘Not if we request his presence, to serve food and drinks and whatnot.’

‘I couldn’t ask Sam to wait on us.’

‘You wouldn’t need to, it would just be a cover, a way for us to get him up there with us!’

‘It would be late.’

‘Very late,’ Merry nodded. ‘And dark.’

‘Close to midnight, I should think…’

‘Oh yes.’ Merry looked hard at his cousin. ‘Don’t tell me you still believe in ghost stories?’ 

Frodo tugged his jacket a little tighter about his shoulders. ‘Of course not!’

‘And yet you’re worried about being out in the middle of All Soul’s night, with us, and Sam…’ Merry suddenly looked devilishly devious. ‘You’re not thinking about that legend are you?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about Merry.’ 

A white smile slid across Merry’s face, like a slice of the full moon. ‘You know the one. The legend of Brandy Hall…the one they don’t like to mention… _the one we would talk about together in bed?_ ’ 

Frodo grew pale and flushed by turns. ‘You shouldn’t speak of it, Merry,’ he warned.

Merry laughed as he rose to his feet. ‘You’ll come though won’t you, Frodo? I shall pass a message to Sam at dinner. Be in my rooms at twelve.’ 

Turning at the door, he added, ‘Bring a cloak,’ and as he swept out into the passage, a chill gust of wind blew into the room, leafing through the papers on Frodo’s table and sending the flames in the hearth lurching sideways as if tugged by an invisible needle. Frodo shivered, although whether it was with fear or anticipation, he couldn’t quite tell.

~ ~ ~

‘Ah Sam! You’re here bright and early!’

Sam stood nervously in the doorway to Merry’s rooms, a large hollowed-out wurzle in his hands carved with a cavernous grin. 

Merry eyed it dubiously. ‘Is that for me?’

‘I told them you’d asked for it to be taken up,’ Sam said. 

‘Very inventive of you,’ Merry grinned, ushering him into the room.

‘Did you bring any food?’ Pippin called from the vicinity of the bedroom. 

‘Sorry, Mr Pippin sir,’ Sam replied, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. ‘I couldn’t seem to get close enough to it, and most had already disappeared.’

‘Never mind,’ Merry beamed. ‘You put that thing down now and come and have a seat.’ 

Sam smiled tentatively as he settled the jack-o-lantern carefully down onto a wobbly side table. ‘Do you want me to light it?’ he asked, turning to Merry. 

‘Well, why not?’ Merry threw him a tinderbox and Sam obliged, setting the flame to the hissing little candle inside the slimy belly of the turnip. Setting the hat back on its head, Sam watched the light grow, illuminating the slanting, devious eyes and gaping, gap-toothed mouth of the pale vegetable. 

‘He’s a rum-looking fellow and no mistake…’ Merry said, eyeing it curiously.

‘Aye,’ Sam nodded. 

‘Is that your doing?’ Merry enquired, shepherding him into the nearest armchair. 

‘No, sir, the kitchen maids did it. Mine would have had a fairer face.’ 

‘Do you make them for your master, Sam?’ 

Before Sam could reply, Pippin emerged from the bedroom, rubbing his damp hair with a towel, and Sam suddenly felt more awkward than ever, as if he had intruded on something private and intimate and a thought struck him. ‘Am I early, sirs?’

Merry looked at the watch in his pocket. ‘No Sam, not at all, eleven thirty was the pre-arranged time.’

Flicking his gaze to the blazing fire, Sam tried to ignore the burning in the tips of his ears as Pippin brushed past Merry and kissed him on the top of his head. Merry beamed at him, following his movements, as crossing his legs, Pippin settled himself before the fire, arching like a cat into the warmth. 

‘You’re sitting far too close, Pip,’ Merry warned. 

‘I like the heat,’ Pippin sighed, leaning back. 

Sam shuffled in his chair, lacing and unlacing his fingers. 

‘Sam brought us a present,’ Merry announced, wandering over to the lantern and picking it up. 

Pippin raised his head. ‘Oooh!’ 

‘I think he has a devilish look about him, don’t you, Pip?’ he winked. 

‘Oh! Oh yes…’ Pippin cocked his head. ‘Almost lifelike, I’d say.’

‘Let’s set him up here,’ Merry placed the lantern down onto the mantelpiece where it sat precariously, rocking a little to and fro. Wandering from corner to corner, Merry extinguished the lamps until all that remained was the soft orange glow emitting from the slanted eyes and gaping, long mouth of the lantern. ‘That’s better, that sets him off to his best advantage.’

‘Mmmm…’ Pippin rolled onto his stomach, crossing his legs at the ankles, his sharp chin propped in his hands. ‘Do you know, he reminds me of someone? Or something?’

‘Oh yes?’ Merry had taken up a decanter of dark red wine and was busy filling Sam’s glass to the brim. Holding the fine, tall glass uncomfortably, Sam attempted to refuse, but found his protests rebuffed. 

‘Do you remember that story? The one we would whisper to each other every night at All Soul’s, once the fireworks had died and the deep, dark quiet fell?’ Pippin went on, talking in a breathless hush, forcing Sam to listen close, his mind already muffled with strong wine. 

‘Remind me, Pip,’ Merry urged, sitting down on the arm of Sam’s chair, sipping at his own glass. 

Sam sat a little stiffer, drinking nervously, and too fast, watching the firelight cast strange shadows up the walls and the flames leap and kindle in Pippin’s green eyes, making them gleam like a cat’s. 

‘There was a tale, now let me remember how it went, oh yes…many years ago before the Master’s children were children and his father’s children were even born, when there were trees growing so close to the Hall you could hear their whispering from your bed at night, a traveller came riding to the door on All Soul’s Night. A traveller in a long black cloak and with dark night-blue eyes, hard as jemstones. He came in the middle of a storm, his horse running with water, sleek and black, big as a horse of men. Banging on the door, he said his name was Brandybuck and he had come back to his ancestral home, but his name wouldn’t be on any charts in the library, nor in the pages of any books. But he was a Brandybuck none the less and should be let in. So the Master of the Hall was sent for and down he came in the dark, shivering in the rain and the wind, he saw the traveller and heard his plea and being a kindly Master, let him come in. The horse was taken to the stables and the traveller was granted a room for the night. With a servant to guide him, the traveller walked through the halls, looking about him at all the fine things like a lord returning to his own palace. His footsteps rang loud and hard and everyone who heard them, felt his passing like a shiver of ice. Down the dark passages he walked until he came to the door of the chamber, the best they had available, for the other rooms were full of guests. Opening the door, the servant stood back to let him in and as he passed, she felt the shiver pass through her and her candle went out as if pinched by invisible fingers. Declaring the chamber satisfactory, he rang the kitchen bell for food to be brought up, even though it was close to midnight and dark as pitch in the passages. A maidservant lit the fire and tended to the bedclothes and before she left she made the mistake of looking into the stranger’s face. A moment later, another servant knocked on the door, carrying a platter of food. There was pie and cheese, bread and apples and good strong ale, a feast fit for a king. Finding the chamber empty, the servant set the food down on a table near the fitful fire and just as he was turning to go, he felt a shiver pass down the back of his neck, as if someone with icy lips had trailed a long kiss. Compelled, he turned up his eyes….’

‘And?’ 

‘Well, no-body knows, but he was never seen or heard of again. Bells rang all night long and everyone who entered there was to vanish into thin air. And when no one would go, for fear of what might have happened to the others, the Traveller walked down the winding stairs and into the servant’s rooms and kitchens, searching and some felt his passing and had no choice but to look, whilst others slept on.’

‘Why did some come and not others?’ Sam asked in a small voice.

‘Only those that were suffering from unrequited love, and who could not help but look for it in this traveller’s face, would fall to their doom. He’s always wandering and he’s always hungry, seeking, searching for someone he loved and lost, leaving behind him a trail of discarded, broken-hearted souls.’

Sam shivered, taking another sip of the warm, strong wine.

‘Even now, on All Soul’s night, those that are hungry for the love of another should hide themselves away before the clock strikes twelve and not hearken to those footsteps or answer those summons, but lie quiet and press their faces into their pillows and beg for dreams to come.’

Merry nodded, ‘It has always been the sensible cause of action.’

‘What happened to the traveller?’

‘When the evidence of these black deeds was uncovered, a summons was sent to the Thain, who declared that he should be turned out from the Hall and sent off into the Old Forest to wander at will, stripped of the Brandybuck name.’

‘Of course there are those that say some still carry that peculiar strain of Brandybuck   
blood – those that are inclined to wander.’ Merry raised a brow. ‘Of course it is only a story,’ Finishing his wine with a flourish, he took a watch from his pocket. ‘It’s almost twelve!’

‘Where can cousin Frodo be?’ Pippin sighed, reverting to his old self, limbs spilling all over the hearthrug. 

Sam brooded over his wine, turning the story over in his mind. ‘Was it only servants?’ he asked.

‘Hmm?’ Pippin turned his attention to his empty wineglass.

‘Only servants that he took?’ 

‘Pip?’ Merry looked agitated. 

‘Oh, oh, yes…’ Pippin nodded. ‘His first love was for a servant, so it was those he chiefly looked amongst, or so they say…’

‘The maids will be locking their doors,’ Merry added. 

‘Although I should think Old Trubshaw is safe enough,’ Pippin grinned. 

‘Oh yes, I should think so,’ Merry agreed.

Sam looked down into his empty glass, once more aware of the passing of time and feeling rather woolly headed and dazed. Perhaps he too should go to bed, he didn’t seem to be needed here, if anything he felt rather in the way and wondered why he had been asked. Mr Frodo hadn’t even turned up. Shyness and a bashful hope kept his tongue still in his mouth, and now this ghost story had sent shivers down his spine and the thought of bed seemed at once both urgent and uneasy. Surely if there was any truth in these old tales, then should the Traveller come searching he was himself particularly vulnerable, in his state of silent and ardent devotion. He thought of the dark walk down to his bedroom and trembled. 

‘I think I should be saying goodnight, sirs.’ Sam rose unsteadily to his feet. ‘I have an early start in the morning.’

‘Perhaps it would be sensible, Samwise,’ Merry agreed, taking the wine glass from his hand and showing him to the door. ‘Well, I’m sorry it has been such a dreary party, I can’t think where Frodo has got to…probably hobnobbing with Tristram Boldstaff I shouldn’t wonder.’

Sam went pale. ‘Goodnight then Mr Merry, Mr Pippin.’

‘Goodnight, Sam,’ Pippin called. ‘Sleep well.’

‘Aye, sir,’ Sam replied thickly, blinking in the dark. 

‘Here, take a candle,’ Merry passed Sam a lit candle, the flame twisting in the draughty passage. 

‘Thank you,’ Sam nodded farewell and then made his way into the shadowed passage, feeling his way step by step to the door to the winding stair.

~ ~ ~

‘Oh Merry, that was too cruel!’ Pippin laughed, rolling onto his back and gripping his sides with pain.

‘Did you see the look on his face when he asked if it was ‘just servants’?’ Merry grinned, pouring himself another glass of wine. ‘You did your part very well, dearest Pip.’ 

‘Do you think so?’ Pippin sat up, crossing his legs and widening his eyes. ‘Do you know I was modelling myself on our very own Cousin Frodo?’

‘Yes and Frodo and I told each other that tale often enough on All Soul’s Night – with more juicy bits of course – I didn’t want to embarrass Sam more than was needful.’ 

Merry sat down beside Pippin and nuzzled his hair, drying now and curling up nicely.

‘No, you can save those parts for me later…’

‘Or perhaps Frodo might inform him himself?’ Merry whispered. Pippin looked thoughtful for a moment. 

‘Perhaps,’ he replied, a slow smile quirking up the corner of his mouth.

Merry kissed him softly, tasting wine and the cinnamon they had eaten at dinner. As the kiss began to deepen they were disturbed by a sharp rapping at the door.

‘Ah…’ Merry murmured. ‘Right on time.’

Pippin pulled a face. 

Tweaking his cousin’s nose gently, Merry rose to his feet and went to answer the door. ‘Frodo! Come in!’ 

Frodo peered into the room, his eyes searching. ‘Am I early?’ he said, sweeping inside, his long dark cloak trailing on the carpet. 

‘Not at all,’ Merry replied. ‘Would you like a drink?’

Frodo smiled at Pippin and then sat down on the chair Sam had just vacated. Accepting the wine from Merry, he drank a little too fast, his eyes flashing to the doorway in a restless manner. 

‘Nice cloak,’ Pippin remarked. 

‘Yes, Merry, why am I the only one wearing a cloak?’ Frodo frowned. 

‘I have mine ready and waiting,’ Merry replied, giving Pippin a meaningful stare before hurrying into the bedchamber, returning with a long black travelling cloak. ‘See? And here’s yours Pip!’ Merry tossed Pippin a voluminous black article. 

‘What’s this?’ Pippin wrinkled up his nose. 

‘Your cloak.’

‘It’s a sheet!’ 

‘It’s all I could find in a hurry.’

Reluctantly, Pippin drew the sheet around his shoulders and knotted it at the neck. ‘Eeeh! Merry it smells of mothballs!’

‘Well, it’s been at the back of the laundry cupboard for years…Mother doesn’t like them.’

‘I’m not surprised…’ Pippin muttered.

Merry tied his own, scarlet-lined riding cloak with a sharp twist and a tug. ‘Right!’ he announced. ‘Now for some fun and games.’

Frodo drew deeper into the folds of his cloak. ‘Haven’t we had enough of those already?’

‘Come now, Frodo, you promised you’d liven up a little tonight?’ Merry reminded him. ‘Besides these are real games, grown up games.’

‘All right,’ Frodo sighed, getting to his feet. ‘Where do you want me?’

Merry was riffling in a drawer. ‘Anywhere over there,’ he shouted, gesticulating wildly. 

Frodo rolled his eyes at Pippin who was slouching against the back of a chair, sipping wine and gazing at Merry’s behind, through long and uncombed curls. Standing beside him, Frodo watched Merry produce a hat and begin to busy himself with slips of paper. 

‘No peeking!’ he warned, stuffing the paper into the hat. 

‘Here we go,’ Frodo groaned. 

A small smile slipped across Pippin’s face. ‘Oh yes.’

‘Right then! Come on – all in a circle!’ 

‘Merry you are a terrible bossy boots,’ Pippin complained, sauntering over to the middle of the room where he stood in a triangular formation with Merry on one side and Frodo on the other. 

‘Serious now, Pip!’ Merry warned, blowing out a candle to set the mood, deepening the shadow and the quiet, the rain once more coming into focus, shattering against the glass like handfuls of hard crystal. ‘Everyone must take a piece of paper and open it, keeping it secret from the others. Two are blank, one is marked with the letter ‘H’ and then – and this is the best bit – we blindfold one another! Two must hide, the other must seek and when he finds the others he must announce his presence with his lips alone.’ 

‘You mean?’ Pippin began.

‘Yes, kissing.’

‘But what if you find the wrong person, you might end up kissing a servant!’

‘That’s the fun of it,’ Merry grinned, producing three scarves from behind his back. ‘Frodo?’ 

‘Very well,’ Frodo sighed and reached in to take a piece of paper from the hat. 

‘Now you, Pip,’ Merry instructed.

Pippin did the same, holding his paper cautiously as if it were alight. 

‘Now me.’ Merry took the last piece and threw down the hat. ‘Right now everyone must look but not show.’

‘Yes Merry,’ Pippin intoned, unfolding his slip, his eyes widening. 

Frodo opened his and frowned. 

‘Right then, blindfolds!’ Taking Frodo by the shoulders, he spun his cousin round, tying the black silk at the back of his head. He could see Pippin out of the corner of his eye, waving his paper and shaking his head. 

When he had made quite certain that Frodo couldn’t see a thing, he gave Pippin a hard stare and produced his own paper – showing him that they were indeed all marked with the letter ‘H’. Pippin’s lips formed a surprised ‘O’ as Merry briskly tugged him about and tied a red silk scarf around his eyes. 

‘Can you see, Pip?’ he murmured, hot breath tickling Pippin’s ear. 

‘Not a thing,’ Pippin confirmed, blundering against a table. 

‘Good – Frodo would you do me?’ 

‘Very well,’ Frodo reached blindly for the scarf and locating his cousin, his fingers moulding him like a piece of unformed clay, managed to cover his eyes and knot the slippery thing at the back of his head. 

‘The hiders can go anywhere, but we thought it more fun if we play understairs, there are lots of passages there and twists and turns…’

‘And more servants!’ Pippin piped up.

‘Yes,’ Merry snapped. ‘More servants – more danger!’ 

Frodo went very still and looked blankly at the wall. A sharp crack of thunder seemed to rip through the sides of the hill, making the floors shake and the air tingle. 

‘A storm! How fitting,’ Merry said, weaving his way over to the window with remarkable confidence. ‘I shall count to ten. When I have finished counting we shall leave one by one. The two hiders first and the seeker to count to twenty and then follow. Remember – silent as ghosts. No coughing, no blundering into furniture, no breathing unless you can help it.’ 

Frodo and Pippin murmured in agreement and then Merry began to count.

~ ~ ~

Sam had been lying in his bed for half an hour now, listening to the sound of the rain beating against his tiny dark window high up in the wall.

His mind turned again and again to the story Merry had told him in his rooms, and he could still see before his eyes, the leering face of the jack-o-lantern on the mantelpiece laughing at his fears. For no matter how rational his mind could be, no matter how full of good homely wisdom passed down by his mother and his father, Sam was still inclined to believe in such fancies and there seemed nothing his sensible mind could do to disprove them. 

Brandy Hall seemed a big, frightening place on a dark, stormy night such as this and he longed for the cosy comforts of Bagshot Row with the sound of his sisters voices carrying through the wall and his dad’s snoring as he dozed in the kitchen beside the dying embers of the fire. He would pull his eiderdown up to his nose and burrow down, preparing to dream once more of kissing his master until his lips opened into flowers. 

These little rooms below stairs were stark and chill, whitewashed, and furnished sparsely with a bed, a chair and a trunk to store clothes and other articles. The sheets had been starched too hard and the covers chafed when he moved, prickling his skin and making him restless. Even his usual dreams would not come, as if the inhospitable surroundings were driving them away. As his hand reached down to seek comfort in the familiar warmth of his own flesh, he found himself shrinking from the icy touch of his own hand. 

Sighing, he threw the covers off. _Why hadn’t Frodo come?_ Sam had been longing all day for the chance to be with his master, even in company, just to be near him would have been enough, to watch him sit back and laugh and talk and be easy with others. He wouldn’t have cared if he had to stand all night in the shadows.

But it seemed Frodo had been enjoying himself too much at the party. Remembering the name Merry had mentioned, Sam flinched, feeling a sharp pain inside as he recalled to mind a fine, rakish-looking hobbit with well-cut clothes and a loud and penetrating laugh. They were probably together now, curled into one another, loving each other the way Sam longed to do. Conjuring up the scene in his mind, Sam tormented himself by adding detail after detail, right down to the wild, wandering look in Frodo’s eyes as he gave himself up to experienced and artful hands and Sam nearly cried out for the terrible ache of it. 

He was vulnerable, that was certain, and any silent watcher who heard the clamour in his mind, would know and then he’d be done for and no mistake. 

A bright flash of lightening lit up in the room for a second with a hollow white glow, before sinking back to darkness. Sam pressed his head against the pillow, waiting for the thunder. 

He hadn’t even finished counting to two before the monstrous blast shook the side of the hill. Gasping, he covered his ears. He had never liked thunder and on such a night as this it could only forebode ill. Now he would never be able to sleep. Giving up on a hopeless task, he rose from his bed and sat on the edge, counting the minutes, bracing his body for the next assault. Once more a brilliant shock of light and then again, the rumbling roar.

~ ~ ~

Blindfolds off, Merry and Pippin tore down the winding stair and into the warren of passages under the Hall. Pippin was gasping with the effort not to laugh, but Merry held tightly to his arm, tugging him along.

‘Must be down here somewhere…’ Merry muttered. ‘In one of the guest rooms…I used to play down here when I was little.’

Pippin hurried along beside him, tripping over his feet. ‘Can’t we just play along, just for a little bit?’

‘No Pippin,’ Merry replied firmly.

‘But…’

‘I know you want to kiss cousin Frodo, but this is important.’

‘Why?’ Pippin pouted. 

‘It’s for his own good, and ours in the long run, he’s mooning about like a lovestruck tween and no fun at all.’

‘One kiss wouldn’t hurt…’

‘Yes Pip – it would!’ Merry hissed.

‘How?’

‘He would find _you_ and not…here! Here’s the place! I knew it was down here somewhere!’

Pippin peered around the bend in the corridor. ‘Oooh looks dark and creepy down there Merry, I don’t think I like it.’

‘Well think yourself lucky you’re not sleeping in there like poor Sam.’

‘And he won’t be sleeping in there much longer, not if we have our way…’

‘Exactly, we’re rescuing him.’

‘And how are we going to do that, Merry?’

‘Ring the bell,’ Merry whispered. ‘He won’t be sleeping, not in this.’ The corridor shook with a fresh assault of thunder. 

‘Where’s the bell?’ Pippin frowned, looking about him at the bare, white walls. 

‘Up there!’ Merry jerked his head.

Looking up, Pippin saw a line of thin golden wires connecting bells below stairs to other bells in rooms above. ‘Right.’ Taking hold of the string winding its way to Sam’s door, Pippin shook it hard. The chiming seemed to echo strangely in the silent corridor and both hobbits flinched from the sound. 

‘Do you think he heard that?’ Pippin asked. ‘I hope no one else will come instead, we don’t want Frodo kissing the wrong person.’

‘Don’t worry, that bell is for Sam’s room, it has a special tone.’

‘Really?’ Pippin looked amazed. ‘They all sound the same to me.’

‘Shhh!’ Merry hissed, ‘Come on – let’s go into the kitchens and hide.’

‘Do you think there will be any food left over, I’m starving!’

‘Oh Pip, you’re always thinking of your stomach,’ Merry tugged Pippin along by the arm. As they passed the winding stair, they paused at the bottom and listened. ‘I can hear him – he’s coming!’

Pippin nearly yelped, but Merry quickly stifled the sound with his hand, luring Pippin onwards with promises of cake.

~ ~ ~

The sound of the little bell ringing for him in the darkness, sent jolts of alarm shooting like little rockets through Sam’s body, leaving him boneless and trembling. Either this was his master seeking refreshment after an arduous hour of passion, or else it was another darker summons. Both seemed equally horrifying and for a moment Sam was rooted to the spot in indecision. As his mind weighed both possibilities, he wondered whether it was possible that a third situation had arisen – that his master was hurt or in real need and not lying in bed basking in the warm glow of satisfaction. This small possibility was enough to make up Sam’s mind, for no danger was so great that it would keep him from his master’s side if he was in need of him.

It was very cold in the room and so as to keep the chill from his skin as he walked out into the cold, underground passages, Sam threw on his winter cloak. Taking up the candle from his bedside, he lit it and watched tall and frightening shadows rear up around him. Trying not to shiver, he pushed open the door and looked out into the silent, empty passage. The golden cord was still now and the bell hung steady above the door, as if it had never rang at all. 

Creeping out, holding the candle at arms length before him, Sam hoped and prayed he would remember his way in the dark. Trying to map the stairways and passages in his mind, Sam tried to recall the route to Frodo’s room. _The guest room…_ he thought to himself, remembering the lovesick servants who had answered that unhappy call. It smelt damp in the passageways and Sam thought of the heavy earth pressing in on all sides and felt a little claustrophobic. His hand shook, and the candle flame wavered, sending his own shadow lurching thin and crooked beside him. 

As he reached the bottom of the winding stair, he looked up, noting how dark it was at the turn, as if the shadow might be a dark pool of water which would suck him down as soon as he set a foot into it. And then he froze. There was the sound of footsteps descending from above; someone was walking slowly down the stairs. Their steps sounded heavy and laboured, as if weighed down. Sam caught his breath, captured by his own fascination and fear, and quite unable to move. He pressed himself against the wall beside the stairs and looked up into the patch of darkness. Nearer and nearer they came until, in a sudden flash of light from the small high window at the top of the stairs, Sam saw a figure illuminated at the turn. 

Nearly crying out with horror, Sam’s eyes grew large with shock as he saw his worst fears realised – a figure in a black cloak, his face shrouded in dark shadow, his hands reaching, clutching at the cold walls, feeling his way towards his prey. 

_Oh sweet master, where are you?_ Sam prayed, blowing out the candle and dashing away the smoke with his hands. 

The footsteps shuffled close, so close Sam could almost hear his breaths on the air. 

_Oh save me…_ Sam whispered, pressing his back so hard against the cold wall, the chill of it went into his bones. 

The figure had stepped out into the stairwell and hesitated, feeling the air with his hands, moving left and then right, cocking his head as if listening, and Sam knew he was sensing him close, hearing the sound of his heart racing and the blood thrumming in his veins. 

Then, to his horror, Sam dropped the candle. It slipped out of his hand, as if he had lost all control of his own limbs, and clattered to the floor. The figure heard it and becoming bold, turned and began to walk towards him, feeling his way in the darkness as if his hands could tear at the veils of darkness and draw them aside.

Sam screwed up his eyes, clenched his fists and waited. Whatever happened, he would not be fool enough to look.

He could feel him close, the motion of his hand as it was raised above his head, the soft sweep of a cloak against the side of Sam’s face, his breath, warm across Sam’s lips, as his face moved close, so close he could almost… With a gasp Sam opened his lips, feeling the pressure, soft and inviting, urging him to give himself up and it was too much, too much to resist. The lips were warm, so warm for a ghost, Sam pondered, as he tipped back his head against the wall, enjoying the blissful stirrings of his body. 

But as Sam let slip a small groan, the kiss faltered and the stranger drew back a little, as if surprised. 

‘Merry?’ 

Sam frowned. The voice sounded very familiar. 

‘Pip?’

Another flash of lightening lit up the stairwell through the window at the top and for a second Sam saw the stranger’s face, or at least his mouth and nose, for the rest of him was shrouded in black. But that was enough, for Sam knew every small detail of his master’s face and it would take a much cleverer costume than this to disguise his beauty. 

‘Mister Frodo?’

Frodo went very still, his breath catching in his throat. Then slowly, and with unsteady hands, he reached for the blindfold and tugged it off. 

‘Sam?’ Blinking at Sam in horror and surprise, Frodo twisted the black silk in his hands. ‘What have I done?’

Sam looked down at his feet, warmth rushing over him as he thought about the kiss they had shared and felt once more a stab of pleasure.

‘I’m so sorry, it was a game, a silly game of Merry’s we used to play when we were young and somehow you got caught up in it…’

Sam bit his lip. ‘That’s all right, Mister Frodo.’

Frodo looked utterly miserable, ‘No, it’s not, it’s not all right at all, I kissed you against your will!’ 

Not wanting his master to feel ashamed on his behalf, Sam shook his head enthusiastically. ‘No, no, it’s all right, honest, Mister Frodo, I was hoping to play some games tonight as it happens, but I thought we had missed each other.’ 

‘Mister Merry said you had other engagements…’ he added, looking shyly at Frodo from beneath lowered lashes.

‘Other engagements?’ Frodo frowned.

‘Aye, Mr Boldstaff,’ Sam muttered, hating to have to pronounce the name aloud.

‘Tristram Boldstaff?’ Frodo laughed. ‘I think Merry has been making some mischief here Sam.’

Sam didn’t reply, but gazed at his master, whose eyes glimmered darkly in the shadowed passage, his skin white as the moon hanging low in the stormy sky. Another crack of thunder split the silence as Frodo returned his gaze, his regard deepening to something more. 

‘Do you like the thunder Sam?’

‘No, sir, not much as it happens,’ Sam replied, still caught up in the stormy beauty of his master’s eyes. 

‘Perhaps if we went into your room we might not hear it so loud?’ Frodo murmured.

‘Maybe not,’ Sam’s voice sounded thick and slurred in his ears as if he had drunk too much ale.

‘Show me the way,’ Frodo stepped back, allowing Sam to pass.

As Sam walked back down the passage, he felt Frodo’s presence at his back all the way, as if it were radiating heat and promise and by the time he had closed the door of his room behind them he was shaking so much he could barely stand. 

‘Sam…’ 

Frodo’s voice sounded strange, hoarse and determined. Untying his cloak at the throat, he threw it to the floor and with two strides, pinned Sam against the door. 

‘I’m going to kiss you again,’ he said. ‘But this time I will know it is you I am kissing and that will make it all the sweeter.’

Thrilled by his master’s assertiveness, Sam opened his lips with a groan as Frodo once more pressed his lips against his, moving them hungrily, his tongue pushing into Sam’s mouth as a knee slid up between Sam’s splayed thighs.

As the kiss deepened, his hand reached down, unfastening his own breeches in desperate haste, before feeling for Sam’s buttons, their tongues still moving, growing urgent as they danced together, stroking and stabbing and arching. 

Sam moaned softly in his throat as he felt Frodo’s hand enclosing his throbbing cock, circling it with his thumb before starting to stroke. Powerless to move, he tilted his hips into Frodo’s caress, urging him to continue with weak sobs. Frodo’s hand paused for a moment and then, in a brilliant flash of light, Sam felt the press of Frodo’s hard, hot flesh against his own, both of them captured in a sweet, tight grasp. Sam’s eyes rolled in bliss, panting into Frodo’s mouth as once more he moved with determination, his tongue mimicking the fast, light, breathless movements of his hand.

With the one hand buried in Sam’s curls, Frodo rubbed them both until he felt the first tremors of Sam’s climax come upon him, then he paused, pulling back from the kiss and the press, just to watch the soft amazement pass over Sam’s face, illuminated in a white shock of lightening. In the darkness that followed he stroked once, then twice, and with a broken cry, warm jets shot over his hand and trickled down his own aching cock, making him gasp and follow quickly in Sam’s wake, slumping against Sam’s body, his mouth pressed hot against the rough wool of his winter cloak.

When the tremors of thunder had passed, moving on and away over the Buckland Hills, Frodo raised his head and looked into Sam’s face. Sam smiled, a little nervously in response. 

‘I will kill Merry when I find him,’ Frodo whispered. ‘But I am grateful for the trick, nevertheless.’

‘So am I,’ Sam replied. ‘Though Mr Pippin scared the life out of me with his ghost stories.’

‘He’s been telling tales?’

‘Oh aye,’ Sam nodded. ‘Horrible things about travellers in the dark.’

‘We used to tell each other that tale,’ Frodo laughed. ‘It grew so real we liked to act it out. That was the game we were playing. _Thrust out the Harlot_ we used to call it. The one who unfolded the ‘H’ had to play that part, it was for the others to reveal him. If you were caught, you would be thrown outside, not a pleasant prospect in the dead of night on All Soul’s, not with the wind whistling and the trees in the Old Forest moaning and groaning.’

‘So have you lost the game then, Mr Frodo?’ Sam enquired, raising an eyebrow.

‘No,’ Frodo smiled, crooking a finger under Sam’s chin. ‘I think I’ve won the prize.’

~ ~ ~

‘Do you think it’s safe to come out now, Merry?’

Merry looked up from the table where he had been slumped over a heap of cake crumbs, rearranging them into a crude image of a horse. ‘I haven’t heard him come out yet, Pip.’

‘Why should we wait when could be curled up a warm bed?’ Pippin protested, poking his head out into the passage.

‘I know cousin Frodo, he’ll be lying in wait somewhere, ready to jump out on me I just know it. No Pip, I’m not coming out until I hear him going up those stairs to bed.’

‘It looks like a long night then,’ Pippin sighed, sliding down beside Merry, and leaning against him. 

‘Yes Pip, but at least we’ll have plenty to eat.’

‘Merry?’

‘Yes Pip?’

‘I think I’ll be sick if I eat any more cake.’

Merry kissed the top of Pippin’s head tenderly. ‘Poor Pip – too much of a good thing.’

‘I’ve a taste for other things, though!’ Pippin replied brightly.

‘Oh yes, such as?’

But there was no reply, only the howling of the wind and the clatter of falling spoons as the table was swept clean.


End file.
